Moment
by Chronos Keeper
Summary: That uncomfortable moment where you're laying on the floor, and that chick who crippled you is towering over you. Yeah, that one.


She gave an impatient little scoff, towering above him, uncaring or oblivious of the angle she was offering his gaze. Not that it mattered; he wouldn't have noticed anyway. It was one of the most frustrating things about him, his complete cluelessness. It was a close second to his helplessness, which was yet another facet that for some reason sent her over the edge. Helpless things made her want to make them squirm, watch them writhe as she poked at their weak spots. Kill them slowly.

Her lips pursed as she considered his sprawled form. Her rage drained from her as she took in the bony shoulder and wiry arms, too skinny for the muscles on them. It was an impartial observation, like a cat noticing the limp on a mouse. Okay, so that wasn't entirely true; somewhere, buried under all that contempt and tired frustration was a small stirring of pity. He was pathetic, and totally at her mercy.

His large, liquid eyes had no emotional shielding on them; he was anxious and a little frightened, and god was he feeling sorry for himself for being so incompetent-

-she gave another sigh. No, that wasn't it. Really, she knew more than most what Tavros felt. He wasn't feeling sorry for himself. He felt lost.

God she hated this stupid empathy crap. It was such a load of steaming hoofbeast shit.

She could see traitorous little tear tracks that had started from the corner of his eyes and trickled down his shaved head, leaving little shining spots on the base of his horns. She tisked, flipping her hair. "I told you not to cry," she scolded.

If anything, that seemed to just bring it home. She had meant it lightly, despite her stinging tone, but fat tears started rolling from his eyes anyway, and for a rare, brief second, it caught her off guard. She was used to Tavros's wishy washy nature by now, but he never cried over things she did or said to him, no matter how viscious she got, and she certainly did test those limits at times.

Telling him not to cry because he didn't have the strength to facilitate his own movements was kind of like demanding he not be upset by the death of his ridiculous lusus. They were immutable facts of life, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

She gave another little sigh, as she stooped to latch under his shoulders, ignoring the sniffling. He was all bone and no kid squish, and he felt like some sick creature wobbling around, somehow still alive by some miracle that Alternia seemed to have forgotten about revoking. "Big baby," she said, matter of factly, which to her suprise did not make him cry harder. She supposed he was just ashamed of his own sheer inability. She had him a few inches off the ground, and he was pulling his elbows under him, levering himself with his hands. She could feel the muscles strain and twitch between his shoulder blades, beneath his thick jacket, and she added a little more boost, asking, "Can you even sit up by yourself?"

"Uh, not. Not really." He swallowed as he steadied himself, palms to the floor.

"Why? I thought it was just your legs you broke." She reached over and began untangling the rocket car from the thick strands of webbing in the corner.

"N-no. My spine broke. I can't, uh, really move around below my ribs."

Vriska's thick lashes batted slowly as she broke apart the grey material. "Wow, so you really are useless. Like, really useless."

"Yeah, pretty much."

The rocket car fell out with a bang that made them both cringe. "Well, that's out now!" She said in a falsely chipper tone. She whirled to him with a toothy grin. "Ready, pupa?"

"Uh-"

"Too bad!" She stepped over again, and gripped him under the arms and dragged him a few fet closer to the car. She expected him to heavier, but as she yanked on him, she could better see the shapes of his legs under the cloth of his pants. They were thin, almost shriveled. "Alriiiiiiiight! Now grab the edge of the car."

He didn't need to be told, he was already gripping it and hoisting himself, an old hand at this. He got himself so that he was clinging to the side, face level with the top, arms crooked over to keep him there. This was so incredibly silly.

Vriska bent and gripped him behind the knees, feeling the bone and wasted muscle. She realized he must have worn those large jeans with thick material so as to hide his legs. She lifted and uncerimoniously toppled him over the edge, and he disappeared with a bovine grunt. It was small enough in there that he had no problem resituating himself, sitting up after he tucked his legs down. He blinked at her, a touch of anxiety flooding back into his face.

She slapped her hands on the hood of the car, and leaned over, giving him another predatory grin. "Come on, Pupa Pan. Let's go find some treasure on this dump!"

And she tried to forget the feel of his skinny, sunken legs beneath her hands.


End file.
